“Are you sure this is going to work?” Kaz asks incredulously.

“Nope!” Addy answers.

“That’s reassuring,” Cashew says, his words thick with sarcasm.

“It should work,” Dahlia clarifies. “Assuming that Elderly Human Tarn was as competent as his notes make him out to be.”

Demy carefully makes his way over to the cage where Kaz continues to stand watch, her radiant glow keeping the imprisoned Andrew relegated to the corner where the light doesn’t reach. He carries a large wooden bucket, which Wren had carefully washed out and that now contains a clear, viscous fluid that smells of salinated copper.

“This stuff isn’t a cure, though?” Demy asks in a disappointed tone, standing by the cell door as Cashew unlocks it, using a silver key found in one of the drawers of the nearby alchemy tables.

“Despite years of study and an amazing understanding of pharmacognosy, Mister Tarn never was able to find a cure for vampirism,” Addy begins to explain happily. “In his notes, he mentions that sourcing blood from Katteloxian prisoners and dubious bandits and pirates encountered on the voyage was both impractical and morally suspect, so he was searching for another means to feed Andrew while he sought a cure.”

“Which is foolish,” Dahlia says flatly. “He did not wish to compromise and wanted a perfect solution. If he had focused on finding a blood alternative, then none of this would have happened.”

Cashew opens the door to the cell and Demy gently sits the bucket down inside. The door is quickly closed and locked once again.

“Tarn had tunnel vision, sure, but he didn’t want his son to be a monster. That’s understandable,” Wren says.

Demy casts his gaze at the floor and says nothing.

“‘Child’ always comes before ‘Monster,’ especially if they are not at fault,” Dahlia says sharply. “Elderly Human Tarn should have focused on his child being happy and healthy, not on trying to make them perfect.”

Wren stares at Dahlia, a flush of shame spreading across their cheeks as the throbbing pain of an old wound gnaws at their soul. Softly, they admit, “Even if Tarn was just trying to do what he thought was best, you’re right, Dahlia.” Even softer, they add to themselves, “I should know that more than anyone.”

“All of this assumes that Andrew isn’t a monster. He might be locked up for a reason,” Kaz reminds the others.

“The Phylerian books about vampires mentioned that the notion of it turning people outright evil is superstition!” Addy reports. “Most accounts of vampire attacks are due to vampires actively not trying to feed and accidentally becoming crazed and feral. And those who do become deranged killers were probably not great people in the first place!”

“A person’s circumstances do not make them evil, only their actions,” Dahlia states. She glances over at Demy, tilting her head a little as she asks, “Isn’t that right, Friend Demy?”

Demy looks up in surprise and gives her a small smile and a nod, saying, “That’s what I was raised to believe, yeah.”

“Well, let’s see what actions our friend here has engaged in,” Kaz says. She lowers her hand, the light fading. Hesitantly, Andrew raises from his defensive hunch in the corner, eyes glowing faintly in the dim light coming now from Wren’s orbs and UNA’s beam of light.

Cautiously, the vampire creeps toward the door, sniffing the air like a hungry beast. In a sudden flash of movement, he moves forward and snatches the bucket. Outside of the cell, Kaz, Wren, and Cashew all tense, ready for some kind of attack or trick. But all that Andrew does is pull back, carrying the bucket back to the corner of the cell.

There, after a cursory sniff, he brings the bucket to his lips and tilts it up, taking a long drink of the thick fluid. He lets out a shuddering sigh, rapturous almost, before bringing the bucket once again up to his mouth. This time he does not lower it and he chugs the concoction eagerly.

“Fuck me blind, he likes it,” Cashew mutters.

“Success! Here Mister Tarn, I’ll finish your notes for you,” Addy says gently as she opens one of the lab journals, scribbling in it.

“We don’t know that, exactly,” Kaz says, watching carefully.

“He has not caught fire, yet. That is encouraging,” Dahlia says.

Andrew lets the bucket drop to the floor of his cell, empty. He leans his head back against the bars, mouth open as he gazes up at the ceiling, eyes partially glazed over.

“He looks happy,” Demy says.

“Some things are really good after not getting any for a long time,” Wren says. When every pair of eyes not belonging to Addy (UNA’s single eye-like lens included) turn to face them, Wren blushes in embarrassment.

“Y-you know, like when you’ve not had a, uh, food in a really long time! H-hungry, that’s the word, when you’re really, uh. Hungry,” they babble, staring at the ground.

“Hung-ry,” Cashew emphasizes with a smirk, causing Kaz and Demy to snort.

“Friend Addy?” Dahlia whispers, leaning toward her. “I am not good with the slang. I thought the term was ‘thirsty?’”

Addy closes the book and beams, looking over at Andrew as she says, “He sure was!”

As the group snickers amongst themselves, within the cage, Andrew slowly turns his attention to them. His gaze at first is distant, absent of consciousness, but some manner of sentience slowly creeps back into his eyes. He blinks once, twice. He looks from one person to another, finally settling on Kaz.

“Uh, hello,” he says awkwardly, raising a hand to offer a meager wave. “What’s going on? Who are you?”

The six exchange words in a hushed tone, debating on what exactly to say here. Finally, Kaz breaks the silence by proposing:

“First, would you mind telling us your name?”

“Andrew Southgate,” he says, a bit warily. He looks around the dark room, clearly confused, and asks, “Did my father hire you? Where is he?”

The others look away, averting their eyes from his. All except for Kaz, who returns his gaze evenly, already sensing from Andrew that her worries of him being some dangerous monster are untrue. Respectfully, she tells him, “I’m sorry, but General Southgate is dead. Has been, in fact, for some time. You have been locked away down here for longer than you might believe.”

A sequence of emotions pass across Andrew’s face in very short order: Surprise, understanding, sadness, even a twinge of anger. He holds the emotions in quite well, likely from his time spent as a soldier. The fallout of never letting yourself feel those emotions is something he saw often in his comrades, thus there would be grief later. But right now, information is more important.

“Please, tell me everything,” he says.

Kaz, somewhat relieved and impressed both by him possessing these emotions and his not expressing them before asking for the report, obliges.

“From what my companion has said, it’s been over eleven years since your father passed,” she begins. “Since you’ve been down here, alone…”

~~~~~~~~~~

Andrew sits in silence once the group finishes explaining the events of the past decade or so, much as he did during most of the explanation. An interjection here or there to ask for clarification, especially when Addy somehow got off on a tangent about the obvious scientific foundation of ancient Monteith nanite technology compared to her peers’ claims that their origin was magical in nature (how such a topic came into the conversation is still unclear), but for much of the conversation he was content to merely listen.

The others, uncertain of what to say or do, sit in awkward silence, waiting for the vampire to process the information. And, more than a few of them hope, to provide some context of his own about how his predicament came to be. Yet, he does not speak, nor cry, nor even move for an agonizingly long time: He simply sits in the desk chair within his cell (which he put back upright and slumped into once they began to tell their story), chin resting in his hands, staring at a spot on the floor directly in front of him.

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Dahlia is fairly certain that he doesn’t even blink for several minutes. As someone who also finds disdain for the act of ocular moisturization, often preferring to stare distrustingly at whatever has her attention for long periods of time, she feels a certain camaraderie with this dead thing that somehow continues to persist in front of her.

Finally, Andrew lets out a soft sigh and sits upright, looking at the group. He seems to focus on Kaz, perhaps recognizing a fellow soldier, though his words extend to them all as he says:

“Thank you. Not only for telling me all of this, nor just for saving me after all this time, but for making sure that my father’s efforts weren’t in vain. I didn’t even know he was working on a blood substitute; he always was bad for getting tunnel vision about whatever was in front of him.”

“We’re sorry for your loss,” Wren says, their voice soft but sincere.

“He lived well, despite how the world was for much of his life. He fought for what he believed in and tried to leave Vale a better place than he found it. I’d like to think he succeeded; we should all be so lucky,” Andrew muses. “Besides, I could tell he was running out of time. After Vorominsk, I stopped aging, but it was like he started aging for the both of us. Was he given a proper burial?”

Addy speaks up, voice gentle as she explains, “From what I know he was taken back to Kattelox and buried beside his wife and–well, and beside the grave that was made for you.”

This, after everything, seems to be the tipping point for Andrew. His face scrunches and he puts one hand over his eyes. Voice slightly breaking, he says, “I see. That–that’s good.”

Wren glances at Cashew, whispering so the others don’t hear, “I’m glad we didn’t end up taking anything from their rooms, now.”

Cashew, for all of Vale trying to look like he’s not about to cry, manages to reply simply with, “Yeah.”

Kaz lets the vampire grieve, respectfully waiting for him to gather himself a bit more. There is more to learn, still: Both in terms of how all this happened, and perhaps more importantly, just how trustworthy Andrew truly is.

Once he finally takes his head out of his hands, she sees her chance. Keeping her voice even and fair, she asks, “We would like to hear from you just what happened that led to you being down here, if that’s alright.”

“Of course. It’s the least I can do for you helping me,” Andrew says, wiping at his eyes a bit with the back of his hand.

“On the note of ‘helping you,’ I have a request,” she adds. “Dahlia and Addy assure me that your condition doesn’t cause you to be amoral, but I admit, the superstition persists. Would you accept a pact of truth, to ease my worries?”

Andrew sizes Kaz up a bit, eyes lingering on her pendant. With a small smile, he responds, “A soldier and a devotee of Lord Kelathorne. I have nothing sinister to hide and if it will help you trust me, I accept your pact.”

Kaz offers her hand through the bars of the cell and, as the others watch with various levels of bated breath, Andrew does not hesitate to take it. Within the air above his head the sigil of Kaz’s patron deity, an ornate crown within a stylized diamond shape, materializes and glows faintly.

“Thank you,” Kaz says, withdrawing her hand from the cage.

“Thank you for not taking the opportunity to purify me,” Andrew says with a chuckle. He pauses, then says, “Ah, I said that out loud.”

“Well, looks like it works,” Demy says.

“Alright, so, what led to me becoming… well, a vampire,” Andrew begins, running his tongue over one of his pointed fangs unconsciously.

“The village of Vorominsk was an important point in the supply line for the Phyleran army. This was, of course, some years before Phyleris turned against the Crown, and allowed a unified front to finally put an end to the war,” Andrew explains. Kaz and Wren, in particular, shift uncomfortably at the mention.

“The regiment I was a part of was tasked with taking control of the village, but it was heavily fortified when we arrived. The fighting was brutal and we suffered heavy casualties on both sides,” he continues, staring off into space as he relives the events of that day. “We finally overtook the remainder of the Phyleran forces, who surrendered. That was when a group suddenly appeared from the nearby forest and approached the city, only half a dozen or so in total.

“We thought it was reinforcements in spite of how few there were, but the Phylerans seemed more rattled than us. When the group reached the city, we realized why: It was a group of vampires, which were roaming the land during the conflict, scavenging blood from the fallen and wounded. I guess they saw an opportunity with how few of us were left.

“They fell upon us like ravenous beasts,” he says, lowering his gaze slightly. “I admittedly understand what kind of hunger drove them. Perhaps they were desperate, or just crazed by the smell of so much spilled blood. We silently formed a truce with the remaining Phylerans and fought back as well we could.

“It went… poorly. There were a few dozen survivors at that point, between both sides, but we were unprepared and exhausted from the long battle. They tore through us like a pack of wolves among sheep. One lunged for my neck but misjudged my reaction, instead only succeeding in tearing a chunk of flesh from my shoulder. I am not sure whether I merely wounded it or killed it in turn, but I shamefully admit that I fled.”

Addy suddenly interjects with, “All these years, the mystery of there being no survivors from that battle was all because of vampires?! But you made it out, why didn’t you tell anyone?”

Andrew, along with the others, all turn to stare at her.

“Friend Addy, he would have had to out himself if he told anyone,” Dahlia explains.

Addy blinks, brow furrowed. Confused, she asks, “Wait, because he’s gay?”

Kaz turns back to Andrew, motioning for him to continue. “She’ll get there eventually. Go on,” she says.

Andrew nods in understanding and continues, “So, I ran. Eventually I succumbed to my injuries and the exhaustion. A patrol found me and brought me back to our main encampment, luckily where Father was overseeing the war from. By that point the–infection had taken hold and I, well, died.”

“What was it like?” Demy asks, warily.

“I don’t recall anything, not until I came to my senses, hunched over the body of one of the healers that had tended to me. They and Father were the only ones in the room when I returned, crazed and hungry, but he couldn’t stand to strike me down. When I regained control of myself, I explained to him what had happened.”

“So he snuck you out of there and back home,” Cashew surmises.

“Yes. In the years that followed, I stayed hidden away while the war played out. I… am ashamed to admit that during this time, I took many lives. Father would have prisoners brought from the dungeons of Halcyon, those sentenced to either death or eternal imprisonment for their crimes, for me to drink from,” Andrew admits, looking away from the group in shame.

Dahlia tilts her head slightly and says, “You seem bothered. Yet you were a soldier, were you not used to killing people?”

This earns a sour look from Kaz before Andrew elaborates: “As grim as the field of battle is, you meet your opponent knowing that you fight for a cause and for your own life. There is at least some honor in that. In this, there was none. I was merely hungry, and they merely butchered. There is no justice in that.”

Cashew crosses his arms, arguing, “I mean, they were hardened criminals. It wasn’t like you were chowing down on old women and babies. So, maybe a little justice, you know?”

“Says the criminal,” Kaz mutters.

“‘Says the criminal’ who hasn’t been caught or done anything actually illegal that you know of, officer,” Cashew says while rolling his eyes.

“You literally stole my coin purse,” Wren complains.

“Allegedly literally stole it,” Cashew corrects.

“Did you eat any pedophiles?” Dahlia asks.

“Oh, oh, can we try to guess how many?!” Addy asks excitedly.

Kaz’s glare is enough to cause the commentary to cease. Her attention returns to Andrew and she asks, “So, after the war, I assume the General began looking for a cure?”

“That’s right. I did some research up to that point, though I was never much of an academic. Father was smarter than many of his peers assumed him to be, though, and he had many connections to scholars both in Kattelox and beyond. Sadly, nobody had an answer, so he turned his sights to the possibility of discovering something himself,” Andrew continues.

“The Heart of Vale,” Dahlia says, nodding in understanding.

“He thought he might find some kind of new, unknown ingredients upon this land, and said that it would be easier for me to stay hidden here. On top of having the privacy to conduct his research,” Andrew says.

“So Mister Tarn had the same idea as your family, kind of,” Addy says to Dahlia.

Dahlia replies, “Then just like me, he found that this land is a sterile, unnatural place.”

“That all makes sense, but how did you end up locked in a cage?” Demy asks, frowning.

“Not to mention the entire secret basement thing,” Wren chimes in.

“The basement was built to keep me and his research away from the eyes of the house servants. As you already saw, I still required people to feed discreetly from,” Andrew explains, motioning toward the corner where the various bodies are.

“At first, he was having disreputable types shipped from the mainland, but when the settlement surprisingly sprang up on the coast, it became too difficult to keep it secret. It didn’t help that his health was becoming worse by that point, either. So, we had the cage made specially for me, since we had to ration what few prisoners remained. I must have become crazed from hunger around the time he died, because I don’t recall him failing to–come back to check on me,” he finishes sadly.

Kaz nods slowly, as much to herself as to the story told. “Thanks to the mixture that the General–and Addy and Dahlia–have created, you won’t have to feed off people anymore,” she says.

Andrew smiles bitterly and says, “That is a relief. Though, I don’t know if it’s even worth it, in the end. How can I return to society like this? Even if I explain that I’m not a danger to anyone, how could anyone trust my word after how many I’ve killed? What life is there for me?”

“Elderly Human Tarn spent the last of his life to help you,” Dahlia says, staring directly at him. “Even if you are a dead thing, you still have use. More than most dead things, even.”

“I think your father would want you to have a life and be happy,” Wren adds with a smile.

Andrew considers this, finally nodding as he says, “You’re right, he would. But that doesn’t change how society will view me.”

“Well, see, we might know of this little town that is in dire need of people to help defend it from some crazy fucked up monster things,” Cashew says nonchalantly. “Place is new, some idiots built it on a forbidden continent, you’ve probably never heard of it. Bet they wouldn’t ask too many questions for someone willing to work graveyard shift.”

Andrew raises an eyebrow and looks around the group, settling on Kaz.

She offers a smile and says, “He’s right. I hear the pay is pretty good, especially for an old soldier like yourself.”

A smile slowly spreads across Andrew’s face, fangs showing without shame for perhaps the first time, as he says, “I’m listening.”